The Mummy or Ramses the Damned

5

NO, I'M sorry, Miles. My father's not here. Yes, I will. Immediately." Alex hung up the telephone. Elliott watched him from the desk in the corner of the room. "Thank you, Alex. Lying is actually an underrated social skill. Some clever person should write a polite guide to lying. And all the charitable principles which justify lying so well."

"Father, I am not letting you go out alone."

Elliott turned back to the work at hand. His bath and brief rest had done much to restore his strength, even though it had been impossible to really sleep. He had had a quiet hour to think out what he meant to do now; and he had made his decision, though he had little hope that his scheme would work. Nevertheless the elixir was worth it. If only Samir had reached Ramses. And everything in the man's manner had indicated to him that Samir knew where Ramses was.

He sealed the last of the three envelopes, which he had just addressed, and turned again to his son.

"You will do exactly as I've told you," he said firmly. "If I do not return by tomorrow noon, post these letters. To your mother and to Randolph. And leave Cairo as soon as you possibly can. Now give me my walking stick. And I need my cloak, also. It's damned cold in this city after dark."

Walter fetched the stick immediately. He had the cloak over his arm. He put it over Elliott's shoulders, adjusting it snugly.

"Father," Alex pleaded, "for the love of-" "Good-bye, Alex. Remember. Julie needs you. She needs you here."

* * *

"Sire, it's past six now," Samir said. "I must show you how to find this tavern."

"I can find it on my own, Samir," Ramses answered. "Go back to the hotel, both of you. I must see for myself ... the state of things. And then I shall get word to you as soon as I can."

"No," Julie said, "let me go with you."

"Unthinkable," Ramses said. "It's much too dangerous. And this is something I must face alone."

"Ramses, I'm not leaving you," she insisted.

"Julie, we must return now," Samir said. "We must be seen before they start searching for us."

Ramses rose to his feet slowly. He turned away from the flickering light of the candle, which was now the only illumination in the dark room. He lifted his hands as if in prayer. He looked for all the world like one of the Moslems in the mosque as he stood there, a tiny speck of light shining in his eyes.

"Julie," he said, turning back to her with a deep sigh. "If you go home to England now, you can still recover your old life."

"Oh, you hurt me, Ramses!" she said. "You wound me to the quick. Do you love her, Ramses? Do you love this thing you've raised from the grave?"

She had not meant to say this. She stopped, defeated, and now it was she who turned away.

"I know I love you, Julie Stratford," he whispered. "IVe loved you from the first moment I saw you. I braved discovery to save you. And I want your love now."

"Then don't speak of my leaving you," she said, her voice breaking. "Ramses, if I never see you again after this night, my life is destroyed."

"On my honor, you shall see me."

He took her in his arms.

"My love, my brave love," he whispered, caressing her. "I need you-both of you-more than I can say."

"May the old gods be with you, sire," Samir whispered. "We will count the minutes until we receive some word."

* * *

Only a dim light burned in Winthrop's office. He was staggered by the report on his desk. The young official standing before him waited for orders.

"And his head was crushed, you said?"

"Neck broken also. Like the maid in the museum. And all his money had been taken, though his passport had been left in the mud."

"Double the watch on Shepheard's," said Winthrop. "And get the Earl of Rutherford over here immediately. We know he's there, I don't care what his son says. We saw him go in."

* * *

Out of the back door of the wing, Elliott walked swiftly, stiffening his left leg to take the weight off the knee. He crossed the dark parking lot and headed towards old Cairo. Only when he was two streets away from Shepheard's did he hail a passing cab.

* * *

Julie slipped into her suite, and locked the door. The Arab robe was folded tightly under her arm. She had removed it in the cab, and she stuffed it now in the bottom of die wardrobe behind her trunk.

Going into the bedroom, she drew the small suitcase down from the wardrobe shelf. What few things did she need? So much she possessed did not matter to her. Only freedom mattered now, freedom with Ramses, to somehow escape this hideous tangle of events.

But what if she never again laid eyes upon this man who had thrown her entire past life into shadow? What was the point of packing this suitcase until she knew what had happened?

Suddenly the entire thing overwhelmed her. She lay down on the bed, weak, sick at heart.

She was crying softly when Rita came in.

* * *

The Babylon. He could hear the drums and cymbals as he hurried down the crooked little stone street. How odd that at this moment he would remember Lawrence so keenly, his beloved Lawrence.

Suddenly a soft collection of sounds behind him forced him to stop. Someone had dropped down off the roof! He turned around.

"Keep walking," said die tall Arab. It was Ramsey! "There is a bar around the corner which I prefer for this meeting. It is quiet. Go in ahead of me and sit down."

Elliott was weak with relief. He obeyed immediately. Whatever happened, he was no longer alone in this nightmare. Ramsey would know what to do. He pushed on to the little bar, and went inside.

Beaded curtains; low flickering oil lamps; wooden tables; the usual collection of disreputable Europeans. An indifferent serving boy swabbing a table with a filthy rag.

A tall blue-eyed Arab in handsome robes sat at the last table, his back to the right wall. Ramsey. He must have entered from the rear.

Several patrons eyed Elliott arrogantly as he made his way to the back. He was conspicuous in his proper clothes. The least of his worries.

He took the chair to the right of Ramsey, with its back to the rear door.

The sputtering little lamp on the table reeked of scented oil. Ramses already had a drink in his hand. There was a bottle without a label and a clean glass.

"Where is she?" Ramsey said.

"I have no intention of telling you," Elliott said.

"Oh? What are the rules of this game? Or am I to remain at a major disadvantage?''

Elliott was quiet for a moment. He reflected upon his decision again. Worth it. Worth the shame of the moment. He cleared his throat.

"You know what I want," he said to Ramsey. "You've known since the beginning. I didn't make this journey to Egypt to protect my future daughter-in-law's chastity. That's absurd."

"I believed you were an honorable man."

"I am, though today I've witnessed things that would sicken a monster.''

"You should never have followed me to the museum."

Elliott nodded. He picked up the bottle, uncorked it and filled the glass. Whisky. Ah, yes. He took a stiff drink.

"I know I shouldn't have followed you," he said. "It was a young man's folly. And maybe I would be young again . . . forever."

He looked at Ramsey. There was more than a touch of majesty to the man in these white robes. He looked biblical, larger than life. His blue eyes were rimmed with red, however. And he was weary, and suffering. That was quite clear.

"I want the elixir," Elliott said politely. "Once you've given it to me, once I've drunk it, then I'll tell you where she is. And she shall become your responsibility. And believe you me, I don't envy you. Though I have done all that I could."

"What state is she in? I want to know precisely."

"Healed, but not enough. She is beautiful and she is deadly. She killed Henry, and his Egyptian mistress, Malenka."

Ramsey said nothing for a moment, then:

"Well, young Stratford got what he deserved, to use your modem expression. He murdered his uncle. He tried to murder his cousin. I rose from the grave to stop him. The story he told you of my trying to strangle him was true."

Elliott sighed. Another great wash of relief passing through him, but not without bitterness, deep bitterness. "I knew it... the part about Lawrence. About Julie I never guessed."

"With my poisons," Ramses sighed.

"I loved Lawrence Stratford," Elliott whispered. "He was my ... my lover, once, and always my friend."

Ramses gave a small nod of respect.

"This killing, was it easy for her? How did it come about?"

"She is incalculably strong. I'm not sure she fully understands what death is. She killed Henry because he was firing a gun at her. Malenka she killed because the girl was frightened and had begun to scream. She broke the necks of these two people. The maid in the museum, the same."

"She speaks?"

"Clearly. She picks up English from me as if imbibing it. She told me who she was. But something's wrong with her, something profound. She does not really know where she is, or what's happening to her. And she suffers. She suffers unspeakably because of the great gaping sores on her body, through which the bones are visible. She suffers anguish and physical pain." Elliott took another drink of the whisky. "The damage to her body-surely there is similar damage to her brain."

"You must take me to her immediately!"

' 'I gave her what was left in the vial, the one you so carelessly dropped in the museum. I applied it to her face and her hands. But much more is needed."

"You saw it work? It shrank these wounds?"

"Yes. But the sunlight had already healed her enormously."

Elliott paused; he studied Ramsey's seemingly impassive face, the blue eyes staring forward. "But surely this is no mystery to you!"

"You're wrong."

Mechanically Ramses lifted the glass and drank.

"A quarter of the vial, that's all that was left," Elliott said. "Would it have been enough for me, if I had drunk it instead of giving it to her?"

"I don't know."

Elliott smiled bitterly.

"I am not a scientist. Only a King."

"Well, you have my proposition, Your Royal Highness. You give me the elixir. And in a quantity sufficient to resolve all doubts. And I shall give you Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, to do with as you like."

Ramses looked at him directly. "And suppose I told you I would kill you if you did not tell me where she was?"

"Kill me. Without the elixir I'll die anyway. Those are the only two things I think of now: death and the elixir. I'm not sure I can distinguish between the two any longer.'' One more glass of whisky, that was all he could handle. He drank it down and made a faint bitter face. "Look, I'll be frank with you. I have no stomach for what I've seen today. But I want that potion. And all else collapses in the face of mat desire."

"Yes, how well I remember. Yet it didn't for her. She chose death. To be with her beloved Mark Antony, though I held it out to her. That was her choice."

"Then she didn't really know what death was."

Ramses smiled.

"In any case, that, I am certain, she doesn't remember. And if she does, I doubt she cares. She's alive now, suffering, struggling with her wounds, her hungers . . ."He stopped.

Ramses leaned forward. "Where is she!"

"Give it to me. And I will help you with her. I will do anything that I can. We won't be enemies, you and I. We aren't enemies now, are we?"

"No, not enemies!" Ramses whispered. His voice was soft, but his eyes were full of anger. ' 'But I can't give it to you. It's far too dangerous. You simply do not understand." •

"Yet you raised her from the dead like a bloody alchemist!" Elliott said heatedly. "And you will give it to Julie Stratford, will you not? And your devoted friend, Samir?"

Ramses didn't answer. He rested back against the wall, eyes forward again.

Elliott stood up.

"I'll be at Shepheard's. When you've brewed the elixir, call me there. I'll know your voice when you call. But be careful. Then we shall arrange another meeting."

Gathering up his walking stick, he started for the door. He did not look back, hard as that was for him. His face was burning with shame. But this was the only feeble chance that remained to him, and he played it out, miserable though he was.

There was a moment of fear as he walked in the dark alleyway alone. He was keenly aware not only of all the familiar aches and pains that plagued him, but also of the general weakness from which he was suffering, the premature curse of old age. Then it occurred to him that Ramses would follow!

He stopped, listened. Not a sound in the darkness. He went on.

* * *

She stood in the front room; she had not made up her mind whether or not she should kill this noisy bird. It was being quiet at this moment, clucking, dancing on its perch. And it was beautiful. If it did not scream, she would not kill it. That seemed fair enough.

The body of the dancing girl had begun to rot. She had dragged it into the farthest corner of the garden and there thrown a great cloth over it; but still she could smell it.

Even in the back kitchen she could smell it. But that had not stopped her from consuming all the food she could find. A few lemons, very sweet: a loaf of stale bread.

After that she had changed into one of the other "frocks," to use the American's word for frilly dress. This one was white; she liked it because it made her skin look very fine and faintly golden; and it had even bigger skirts with great ruffles to hide her feet.

The pain in her feet was bad. So was the pain in her side. If Lord Rutherford did not come soon, she would go out again. Though how to find him, she had no idea. It had been hard enough finding this house again. She had driven the American motor car to the outskirts of this curious part of the city where the houses were old and without color or decoration, and then she had wandered through the narrow streets until she saw the open door. Now she was growing impatient.

Suddenly she heard a knock.

"Your name?" she said in English.

"Elliott, Lord Rutherford. Open for me."

She opened the door at once.

"I have waited a long while for you, Lord Rutherford. You have brought the elixir to me? You know where is the man with the blue eyes?"

Lord Rutherford was startled by her English. She gave a little shrug of her shoulders as she closed the door. "Oh, yes, your language is no puzzle to me," she said. "In the streets of this city today I heard much of it and other such tongues. I learned many things. It's the past that's the puzzle, the world I cant remember!'' Suddenly she felt angry. Why was he staring at her like that! "Where is Ramses!" she demanded. She was certain that that was the name of the man with the blue eyes.

"I spoke with him. I told him what was needed."

"Yes, Lord Rutherford." She approached him. He backed away from her. "Do you fear me?"

"I don't know. I want to protect you," he whispered.

"Ah, true. And Ramses, the blue-eyed one. Why does he not come?" Something unpleasant, something very unpleasant. A dim image of Ramses backing away from her. Of Ramses standing many feet away from her as she cried out. Something about the venom of the snake and . . . she was screaming, but no one could hear her! And then they pulled the black cover over her face. She turned away from Lord Rutherford. "If I remembered nothing, it would be easier," she whispered. "But I see it, and then I see it no more." She turned back to him.

"You have to be patient," Lord Rutherford said. "He will come."

"Patient! I don't want to be patient. I want to find him. Tell me where he is. I shall go to him.''

"I can't. That's impossible!"

"Is it!" Her voice had risen to a shriek. She saw the fear in him, she saw the ... what was it? He was not repelled as the others had been. No, it was something else as he stared at her. "Tell me where to find him!" she screamed. She took another step towards him, driving him towards the wall. "I will tell you a secret, Lord Rutherford. You are weak, all of you. Strange beings! And I like killing you. It soothes my pain to watch you die."

She rushed at him, grabbing him by the throat. She would shake the truth from him, and then kill him if he did not tell her. But suddenly strong hands laid hold of her, wrenching her backwards. For a moment she could not get her bearings; she screamed, blundering, and then saw the blue-eyed man standing before her. Who was this! She knew, ah, but it was just beyond Her grasp. Yet the word broke from her: "Ramses!" Yes, this was Ramses, the blue-eyed one. . . . She ran at him with her hands out.

"Get out," he shouted to the other. "Get away from here. Go."

His throat felt like marble. She could not snap the bones! But he could not throw her off, either, no matter how hard he tried. Vaguely, she knew that Elliott, Lord Rutherford, had left the house, slamming the door behind him. And she was alone now, battling her nemesis, Ramses, who at another time had turned away from her; Ramses, who had hurt her. It didn't matter that she couldn't remember. It was like the name. She knew!

Through the room they struggled and into the other. She freed her right hand only long enough to scratch at him with her bone-bare fingers, before he caught her wrist again. With all her strength she fought him, seething with rage. Then she saw his hand go up. She tried to duck, but the blow caught her, and she fell back on the bed. Sobbing, she turned and pushed her face into the pillows. She could not kill him! She could not snap his neck.

"Damn you," she roared, not in the new tongue but in the old one. ' 'Evil Ramses!'' She spat at him as she lay there, hands drawn under her breast, gazing up at him, wishing she had the strength of a cat to spring at him and slice open his eyes.

Why did he look at her like that? Why did he weep?

"Cleopatra!" he whispered.

Her vision blurred for an instant; a load of memories so vast and heavy hovered just near her, ready to wipe out the moment utterly, should she give in. Dark, awful memories, memories of suffering she never wanted to revisit again.

She sat up on the bed, looking at him, puzzling over the tender, wounded expression of his face.

Handsome man he was; beautiful. Skin like the young ones; firm, sweet mouth. And the eyes, the large, translucent blue eyes. She saw him in another place, a dark place, as she rose up out of the abyss. He'd been bending over her saying the ancient prayer in Egyptian. You are, now and for always.

"You did this to me," she whispered. She heard the glass breaking, the boards shattering, felt those stones under her feet. Her arms had been blackened, withered!' 'You brought me here, to these 'modern times,' and when I reached out to you, you ran from me!"

Like a boy, he bit his lip; trembling, tears washing down his cheeks. Should she pity him in his suffering!

"No, I swear it," he said in the old familiar Latin. "Others came between us. I would never have left you."

This was a lie. An awful lie. She had tried to rise off the couch. The poison of the snake was paralyzing her. Ramses! In panic, she'd called out; she could hear her own call. But he hadn't turned from the window. And the women around her, they pleaded with him. Ramses!

"Liar!" she hissed. "You could have given it to me! You let me die!''

"No." He shook his head. "Never."

But wait. She was confusing two different crucial events. Those women. They hadn't been there when he said the prayers. She'd been alone . . . forever and ever. "I'd been sleeping, in a dark place. And then you came. And I felt pain again. Pain and hunger, and I knew you. I knew who you were! And I hated you!"

"Cleopatra!" He came towards her.

"No, stay back. I know what you've done! I knew it before. You Ve brought me back from the dead!" she whispered. "That's what you've done. From the grave, you raised me. And this is the evidence of it, these wounds!" Her voice had almost dried in her throat from pure bitterness. Then she felt the scream coming; she gasped, unable to hold it off.

He grabbed her by the arms, shook her.

"Let me go!" she cried. Calm now. No scream.

For a moment, he held on to her and she allowed it; after all, fighting him was useless. But then she smiled slowly. The thing was to use her wits. To understand all this once and for all.

"Oh, but you are very handsome, aren't you?" she said. "Were you always so beautiful? When I knew you before, we made love, didn't we?" She lifted her fingers and touched his lip. "I like your mouth. I like the mouths of men. Women's mouths are too soft. I like the silkiness of your skin."

Slowly she kissed him. Before it had happened; before it had been so heated that all other men had meant nothing to her. If only he had given her the freedom, the patience, she would have always renamed to him; why hadn't he understood? She had to live and breathe as the Queen of Egypt. Hmmmmm, kissing him, hot as it had been then,

"Don't stop," she moaned.

"Is it you?" he said. Such pain in his voice. "Is it really you?"

She smiled again. That was the horror, wasn't it? She didn't know the answer herself! She laughed. Ah, it was very funny. She threw back her head laughing, and she felt his lips on her throat.

"Yes, kiss me, take me," she said. His mourn moved down her throat, his fingers opening her dress, his mouth closing on her nipple. "Aaaaah!" She could scarcely stand it, the searing pleasure of it. He held her captive suddenly, his mouth clamped to her, tongue stroking the nipple, pulling on her with the ferocity of a suckling child.

Love you? I've always loved you. But how can I leave my world? How can I leave behind everything that I cherish? You speak of immortality. I can't grasp such a thing. I know only that here I am Queen, and you 're moving away from me, threatening to leave me forever. . . .

She pulled away from him. "Please," she begged him. Where and when had she spoken those words?

"What is it?" he said.

"I don't know ... I can't ... I see things and then they vanish!"

"There's so much I must tell you, so much to be revealed. If only you'll try to understand."

She struggled to her feet and walked away from him. Then looking down, she ripped off the dress, tore the fabric of the skirt to its hem. Pulling it back, she pivoted and faced him.

"Yes! Cast your blue eyes on what you've done! This is what I understand!" She touched the wound in her side. "I was a Queen. And now I am this horror. What is this that you brought back to life with your mysterious elixir! Your medicine!"

She lowered her head slowly, hands up once more to her temples. A thousand times she did it, but it didn't stop the pain inside her mind. Moaning, she rocked back and forth. Her moaning was like a singing. Did that soothe the pain? She hummed with her lips sealed, that strange soft song, "Celeste Ai'da."

Then she felt his hand on her shoulder. He was turning her around. Like waking it was to look up at him. Handsome Ramses.

Only slowly did she lower her eyes and see the shining vial in his hand.

"Ah!" She seized it and went to pour its contents into her cupped palm.

"No, drink it!"

She hesitated. But he had poured it into her mouth, she remembered. Yes, down her throat in the blackness.

With his left hand, he grabbed the back of her head, and with his right he lifted the vial to her lips.

"Drink it down."

She did. Gulp after gulp and it was gone into her. The light brightened in the room around her. A great lovely vibration shook her from the roots of her hair to her toes. The tingling in her eyes was almost unbearable. She closed her eyes, and then opened them and saw him staring at her in astonishment. He whispered the word "Blue."

But the wounds, were they healing! She held up her fingers. The itching tingling sensation was tantalizing. The flesh was covering the bone. And her side, yes, closing.

"Oh, ye gods, thank you. Thank the gods!" she sobbed. "I am whole, Ramses, I am whole."

Once again his hands stroked her, sending the chills through her. She let him kiss her, let him pull off the torn clothes.'' Suckle me, hold me," she whispered. On the tingling flesh where the wound had been he kissed her, his mouth open, his tongue licking her. As he kissed the moist hair between her legs, she pulled him upwards. "No, into me. Fill me!" she cried. "I am whole."

His sex jutted against her. He lifted her and thrust her down on it; ah, yes, nothing remembered now, nothing but the flesh; she went limp in ecstasy, her head thrown back, her eyes closed.

* * *

Defeated, he dragged his left foot like a cripple, drawing ever closer to the hotel. Had he been a coward to leave? Should he have stayed, struggling to be of assistance in that war between Titans? With malice in his eyes, Ramsey had said, Go. And Ramsey had saved his life by intervening; by following him, by making a joke of his last feeble attempt to get the elixir of life. Ah, what did it matter now? He must somehow get Alex out of Egypt; get himself out of Egypt. Wake from this nightmare once and for all and completely. That was the only thing left for him to do.

He approached the front steps of Shepheard's, eyes down.

And he did not see the two men who stopped him until they were blocking his path.

"Lord Rutherford?"

"Let me alone."

"Sorry, my lord, I wish I could. We're from the governor's office. There are some questions we must ask you."

Ah, the last humiliation. He did not fight.

"Help me up the steps, then, young man," he said.

* * *

She stepped out of the copper bathtub, the long coarse white towel around her, her hair still damp and curling in the steam. It was a bath for a palace, this room of painted tiles, and hot water running through a tiny pipe. And the perfumes she had found; how sweet the scent, like crushed lilies.

She walked back into the bedroom and saw herself again in the mirrored cabinet door. Whole. Perfect. Her legs had their proper contour. Even the pain inside her, where the evil one called Henry had wounded her, that was no more.

Blue eyes! How the sight shocked her.

Had she been this beautiful when she was alive? Did he know? Men had always said she was beautiful. She did a little dance, loving her own nakedness, enjoying the softness of her own hair against the backs of her arms.

Ramses watched her sullenly from the corner. Well, that was nothing out of the ordinary, was it? Ramses, the secret watcher. Ramses, the judge.

She reached out for the wine bottle on the dressing table. Empty. She smashed it on the marble top. Bits and pieces of glass fell to the floor.

No response from him; only that hard unyielding gaze.

So what did it matter? Why not go on dancing? She knew that she was beautiful, that men would love her. The two men she'd killed this afternoon had been charmed by her, and now there was no dreadful secret evidence of death to hide.

Pivoting, letting her hair fly about her, she cried out:' 'Whole! Alive and whole."

From the other room came the sudden frantic cry of that parrot, that evil bird. Now was the time to kill it, a sacrifice to her happiness, like buying a white dove in the marketplace and letting it go in thanks to the gods.

She went to the cage, opened the little door and thrust her hand inside, catching the fluttering, screeching thing at once.

She killed it by pressing her fingers together. Then shook out her hand and watched it drop to the floor of the cage.

Turning, she looked at Ramses. Ah, such a sad face, so full of disapproval! Poor dearest!

"I can't die now. Isn't that true?"

No answer. Ah, but she knew. She'd been pondering ever since . . . ever since all of this began. When she looked at the others, it had been the realization hovering in the back of her mind. He'd raised her from the dead. Now she couldn't die.

"Oh, how disconsolate you look. Aren't you pleased with your magic?'' She came towards him, laughing under her breath. "Am I not beautiful? And now you weep. What a fool you are! It was all your design, wasn't it? You came into my tomb; you brought me back; and now you weep as if I were dead. Well, you turned away from me when I was dying! You let them pull the shroud over my face!"

He sighed. "No. I never did that. You don't remember what happened."

"Why did you do it? Why did you bring me back? What were we to each other, you and I?" How did all these little shimmering bits and pieces of memory fit together? When would they make one cloth?

She drew closer, peering at his skin, touching it again. Such resilient skin.

"Don't you know the answer?" he asked. "Isn't it deep inside you?"

"I know only that you were there when I died. You were someone I loved. I remember. You were there and I was frightened. The poison from the snake had paralyzed me, and I wanted to cry out to you, but I couldn't- I struggled. I said your name. You turned your back.''

"No! No, that could not have happened! I stood there watching you."

The women weeping, she heard it again. Move away from that room full of death, the room where Antony had died, beloved Antony. She wouldn't let them take the couch away, though the blood from his wounds had soaked into the silk.

"You let me die."

He look her by the arms again, roughly. Was that always his way?

"I wanted you to be with me, the way you are now."

"As I am now. And how is that? What is this world? Is it the Hades of myth? Will we come upon the others . . . upon ..." But it had been right there a moment ago. "Upon Antony!" she said. "Where is Antony!" Oh ... but she knew.

She turned away. Antony was dead and gone; laid in the tomb. And he would not give the magic to Antony; it was all there again.

He came up behind her, and embraced her.

"When you called out to me," he said, "what was it you wanted? Tell me now.''

"To make you suffer!" She laughed. She could see him in the mirrored door of the cabinet, and she laughed at the pain in his face. "I don't know why I called out to you! I don't even know who you are!'' She slapped him suddenly. No effect. Like slapping marble.

She wandered away from him into the dressing room. She wanted something beautiful. What was the finest dress that miserable woman had possessed? Ah, this one of rose-colored silk with fragile cutwork trimming. She took it up, slipped her arms into it and quickly snapped the little hooks up the front. It flattered her breasts beautifully; and the skirt was full and beautiful, though she no longer had to hide her feet.

Once again she put on the sandals.

"Where are you going?"

"Out in the city. This is the city of Cairo. Why should I not go out into it?"

"I must talk to you. ..."

"Must you?" She gathered up her canvas bag. In the corner of her eye she could see a great sliver of broken glass on the marble dressing table top. A shard from the bottle she'd smashed.

She moved lazily towards it. Her hand played with the pearls there. She should take these too. Of course he followed her.

"Cleopatra, look at me," he said.

She turned abruptly and kissed him. Could he be so easily fooled? Yes, his lips told her that, oh, so delicious. How splendidly he suffered! Groping blindly at her side, she found that shard and, lifting it, gashed his throat.

She stepped backwards. He stood staring at her. The blood poured down his white robe. But he wasn't afraid. He did not move to stop the bleeding. His face showed only sadness, not fear.

"I cannot die either," he whispered softly.

"Ah!" She smiled. "Did someone wake you from the grave?"

Again she rushed at him, kicking at him, clawing at his eyes.

"Stop, I beg you."

She raised her knee, jamming him hard between his legs. That pain he felt, oh, yes. He doubled over with it, and she kicked him hard in the side of the head.

Through the courtyard she raced, gripping the canvas bag with her left hand, as with her right she reached for the top of the wall. In a second she was over it and racing through the narrow unlighted street.

Within minutes she reached the motorcar. Instantly she turned on the engine, gave it fuel with a stab of the pedal and roared out of the small alleyway and onto the main road.

Ah, the wind in her face again; the freedom; and the power of this great iron beast at her command.

"Take me to the bright lights of British Cairo," she said, "dear sweet little beast. Yes!"